After Midnight
by Three-Eyed Squirrels
Summary: It is late, and Valen writes of times and places he only allows himself to think about when it is dark.


So many names and faces, all…they all smile at me now. Farill, he has been dead fifteen years now, died of a virus and a fever too high for them to bring down. He was the first of the worker caste that agreed to be part of the Council. There is Canlen, the first warrior; the Council was never the same with him gone. And Catherine…I still think of you. Would you be surprised to hear that, after so many years? I wish it were possible to learn what happened to you, whether you lived or died, whether you ever knew what happened to me, whether you will…sit by a desk late at night and wonder the same things that I wonder now. And Michael…yes, Michael, I remember you, too. Did you forget me, I wonder, after I left? Did you find stability and happiness and peace with yourself before you die? Yes, I think of these things now, though I never used to. It is impossible to stand with Minbari every day and not wonder about peace and the fate of one's soul. I often think of my own, too, and what will happen to it. I know great things came of what I did, but there are late nights when I am still awake and I wonder if it was wrong to lie…to make prophecies about the future that aren't prophecies but things I have lived through and seen.

The days rise and fall faster now, and there are times I can still hear the beeping of Babylon 5's com system and the voices of irate EarthForce senate members demanding why I didn't do exactly what they wanted me to do. I still remember the names of all those senate members, and I might remember some of the things I said to them. They weren't very nice things, as far as I can recall.

I still know the layout of Babylon 5. I tried to draw it once, when Isilenn was away. It did not come out very well at all…I am many things, yes, but being decent at drawing was never one of those things. But I never forgot. I walked often through Babylon 4, looking at each room and down each hall and comparing them to my memories of Babylon 5. I would remember the names of those who lived there, and sometimes whisper them for the future…Londo Mollari, you will be here, in a room filled with extravagance. G'Kar, you will be here, angry, militant, crying out for Centauri blood. Susan, you will be here…and you, Michael, you will be everywhere, and know this station better than any of us. They never understood the names I mentioned and merely wrote them off as the odd workings of a too-brilliant mind. But that is part of me, too, just as the meetings of the Grey Council and countless rituals are here. It is a shame that they could never understand…but if I came back to you now, my old friend, and tried to explain what I do…I do not believe you could understand the sacred whispers of Minbari prayers anymore than Isilenn could understand the Zocalo at midnight.

Still, these days I see your face more. Yours and Catherine's, swimming through my mind, blurry and unfocused. I remember. I never forgot. You know here, Michael, here they say I am without fear. Valen, the one who led us out of the Shadow war, the one who brought us from darkness and who stands at the head of the Grey Council and created something that too will stand until the universe falls. It makes me wonder with a sad sort of amusement what they would have thought had they seen me years after the Battle of the Line, kept awake by nightmares of the death of my squadron. Those dreams rarely haunt me anymore, and I wonder if I left them behind, too, when I stepped from the chrysalis. It is different dreams now that wake me, this late in my life…confused dreams where I am hanging from a triangle, beaten and in pain, surrounded by figures in grey who hold small glowing objects up to my face, then brush their hands against my forehead and fall at my feet, the pain gone, whispers of my name…at least I think it is my name…filling the air.

I have not left your names behind, my friends. Sometimes I believe that you, Michael, would have made far better decisions than some of the warriors that have walked by my side. Isilenn asks me some nights who Catherine is, why I mention her name in my sleep when there has never been a Minbari by that name. I tell her it is a name for a thousand years from now and she doesn't ask anymore.

How many years has it been, my old friends? How many Earth elections came…will come…and will go since I left? And there, does anyone still remember the name of Jeffrey Sinclair, a once-commander of Babylon 5 and hero of the line? Or will you listen to Minbari religious ceremonies and heard the name of Valen and wonder who that was? Michael, Catherine, I wish I could have seen you both once more before I die and leave my staff to Peral, who will take my place as leader of the Council. But I can't, I can only sit here at night and see your face among countless others who have left their names in my life, names that stayed long after faces faded.

There are so many things I can do, my friends. But I cannot see you again, or anyone, and the places I remember walking through don't exist yet.

Ah, look at me, my friends. I am so old now that I write nonsense in the middle of the night instead of the steady records and prophecies-that-are-memories I did when I was younger. Maybe it really is time for me to stand aside for Peral and live out my days in a small house to the south…

Even more nonsense. I could never be content with a small, simple life, I don't think, not even when I lived among you. I suppose some things never change, though I traded commander's quarters and privileges for the strange beauty of my home on Minbar.

Still, I am too old to stay up this late, and Isilenn will chide me if she wakes and sees the light on. So I will stop this nonsense and sleep, and maybe that will end this one Minbari's foolish dreams of a past that hasn't existed yet. And you, Catherine, Michael, you should sleep too.


End file.
